


Spellwork

by silveriris



Series: Arsonist's Lullabye [4]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, everyone hates Erimond the garbage man, here's some emotional anguish nobody asked for, less porn more feelings, references to past abuse, spoilers for DA Inquisition but nothing serious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-31 00:00:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3956830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silveriris/pseuds/silveriris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She is not the one Corypheus chooses, and something inside her twists in burning agony when the god she serves speaks to Samson instead. / Sampernia; full summary and warnings inside</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Dragon Age is not mine, although the writing certainly is.  
> additional warnings: Tranquility mentioned; references to Calpernia’s entry in the World of Thedas vol. 2 that might be considered spoiler–ish?  
> A/N: Title from a song by Austra.  
> What I think is kind of funny, kind of sad, is that while Thedas has to deal with the mages vs templars war, Corypheus has both the Red Templars and the Venatori working for him. He managed to “unite” both sides, and has Calpernia, a mage, and Samson, a templar, as his generals. Sure, he’s an evil darkspawn magister who’s the Big Bad here, but it makes you wonder…

 

It wasn’t a fight, it was a slaughter. The smell of burning flesh hits her, and Calpernia turns her head in disgust. Her magic demands sacrifices, but she will never get used to this odour. She steps away from the charred remains of a slaver, feeling her fingertips tingling with an echo of a spell. She watched him burn in the flames she created. He screamed like a pig, showing the whole world he was nothing but scum that had to be removed. Perhaps she should consider herself a monster because she _enjoyed_ killing him, but can’t help but feel righteous.

The Elder One’s forces were moving forward like he ordered, nothing significant happened until her men informed her there’s a caravan ahead. When she saw it, her initial decision was to leave it alone; no glory could be found in killing merchants transporting goods to poor villages. Then she noticed a symbol painted on one of the wagons, and her fire sang inside her heart.

It certainly meant nothing for everyone else, but Calpernia recognised it, she’s seen it in the letters she receives; sometimes these pieces of paper provide useful information, sometimes they grant freedom. She would like to free all slaves in Tevinter, but she’s not naïve to believe it will be easy, so she has to concentrate on her priorities and give freedom to those who can later provide more useful, who are literate and can most likely take care of themselves in their new lives without chains. At times Calpernia wants to laugh or cry at the thought they see her as their saviour but she has to choose only some of them, while sentencing the rest to death.

She has seen the symbol, she memorised them all along with the names of men who use them. They think they are clever, hunting and selling people for coin while the rest of the world is in the middle of a war. Seeing one of the signs somewhere else than on paper made her head spin. Hearing she’s from Tevinter, people here cringe, some spit, others curse; Calpernia tried to ignore that – until she realised why they see the Imperium like that. Blood and chains, golden thrones on rotting corpses. She looks at the dead slaver again, and she can taste bile in her throat.

She orders her soldiers to free people chained together like nothing more important than cattle. They are afraid, but so weak and starved not a single one of them tries to fight or run. Calpernia knows they would gladly accept death. She’s giving them a _chance_ , instead, hoping they don’t waste it. They're most likely Ferelden, but it was a Tevinter slaver who took them, therefore she felt obliged to react. They are hundreds of miles away from the Imperium, yet scum like this man always find their way to 'represent' their homeland. People all around Thedas don’t see the culture, traditions, past glory, but slaves drenched in blood. She'd like to change it, too, but now it's not the right time. Once she gets what she wants, all Thedas will notice the new face of the Tevinter Imperium. She has to concentrate on her current task first; serving a _god_ is not easy, but she’s not the one to complain.

She was the one who ordered to attack the caravan, and she's the one taking the full responsibility if the Elder One asks why they aren't moving forward fast enough. Well, she couldn't make the Red Templars obey her (they may _fear_ her, but she’s not their general), though speaking to Samson was enough. Thankfully, he didn't ask her why, just commanded his men to assist her.

She likes that about him; he never asks, never questions, and it's so refreshing because truth to be told, Calpernia is getting tired of all those _whys_ and _whats_ an _hows_ she always has to hear. Although the fact that she managed to find something in Samson she genuinely _likes_ makes her worried she's getting soft –  which is a preposterous idea, but on some level Calpernia knows it may just be true. Besides, what happened between them recently has left her uneasy and anxious, waiting for Samson to attack and mock her once he has seen her so vulnerable she feels disgusted with herself she ever allowed something like that to happen.

She's not exactly avoiding him, though she keeps her distance, only sometimes feeling his eyes watching her, just like now. Perhaps he wonders why she’s doing this; all Tevinters are evil, aren’t they? Calpernia feels so bitter she wants to laugh.

One of the people she freed, an elderly woman with a long grey braid, turns to look at Calpernia. After a moment of hesitation, she walks closer. One of the Venatori gives Calpernia a questioning look, readying his sword; she slightly shakes her head, _She poses no danger, let her_.

The woman’s back is hunched, face wrinkled; she’s missing three fingers in her left hand, has a nasty scar on her cheek, and Calpernia briefly wonders how tough this woman is, if she managed to survive all this. The lady looks at her with a timid smile, not coming closer, keeping her distance because she’s visibly afraid. When she speaks her voice shivers.

“Bless you, good lady. Andraste herself must have sent you!”

Calpernia purses her lips but doesn't reply, feeling irrationally angry. She's not a 'good lady', and certainly she was not sent by Andraste, that’s the Inquisitor’s job from all she heard. It's all unimportant, however, what really matters is that these people are safe, for now, and if they're lucky they live long enough to never see any slavers again.

The lady bows her head, and Calpernia wants to scream ( _Do not treat others like your masters, do not bow down to m e !_ ); her hands curl into fists, flames threatening to erupt.

Suddenly the world stops moving as a small girl comes forward; Calpernia swallows a scream, and has to bite her tongue to taste blood. The girl is a thin, such a thin thing, in colourless rags torn in places. She has her fair hair in a long ponytail, her face is covered in so many freckles her pale skin is barely visible. Her eyes are big and, incredibly, so full of life.

The girl smiles at her. Calpernia opens her lips but words won't come; scars on her back itch. She can almost feel that heavy metal collar around her neck, and someone pulling the chain so hard she falls on her knees but has to continue walking so they won’t see how exhausted she is, how scared, not a person but a thing with nothing else but her name that still tastes odd when she says it out loud. But it belongs to her and to her only, and the thought that they can take everything _but_ her name ( _Calpernia_. She has to repeat it again and again, so she won’t forget; she _can’t_ forget, if she forgets she will disappear. _Calpernia_. _Calpernia_. _Calpernia_.), it is the only reason she still finds strength to get up and walk.

She has to take a deep breath to calm the magic within her. The girl's mother, or sister, or simply a woman who took care of her, grabs her hand, thanks Calpernia with a look of her sad eyes, and they walk away.

She turns from the slaves, because there may be another little girl with freckled face among them, and she _refuses_ to remember. Her eyes scan the group of mages and templars, noticing Samson talking to one of his soldiers. She narrows her eyes, maybe they’re talking about her, maybe she wants him to talk about her, then she sees Maddox standing behind the general like a shadow, looking at the carnage around them with a calm expression and blank eyes.

Samson is so overly protective of that Tranquil mage it makes Calpernia wonder what is their story. But no questions were ever asked, of course. She can't look at the man, at what is left of his magic, at his polite smile. They say Tevinters are savages, but to do something like this to a man, to a _mage_...

When Maddox looks at her, Calpernia can only stare, hypnotized by the sunburst symbol on his forehead. He gives her a gentle smile, and she feels a shiver running down her spine. She turns her back to him, ashamed, fighting with an urge to run away as far from him as possible. She shouldn’t treat him like this, she shouldn’t feel so repulsed, but she can’t look at him without seeing not a person but a hollow shell, wondering if this is her fate if she fails.

She killed a slaver who begged her to spare his life, pleading in Tevene, offering her gold and jewels. She ordered to kill his men, but she had to be the one who killed him. His pleas turned into screams when she summoned flames. Calpernia watched his blood boil, face melt, and flesh burn until there was nothing left of him.

She should feel proud and triumphant that she’s one step closer to her goal.

She should.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Erimond arrives just after sunset, bragging loudly about his success but she barely listens. Other Venatori ask him about the Grey Wardens, and he's so full of himself, basking in all the attention he's getting, Calpernia can't hide the look of annoyance on her face.

“Lady Calpernia,” he notices her and begins; she curses in her thoughts that she has to stay and listen, because ignoring him would be rude, and she certainly can't do it in front of others. “If you wish to know more on the matter, I'm always eager to discuss my achievements with our fearless leader.”

Erimond gives her a predatory smile, his eyes cold and alert. Calpernia could swear she has seen snakes with smiles like the one she's seeing on his face. He's ready to pounce on his prey, and it makes her furious he considers her inferior. She is a _woman_ , after all, and men like Livius Erimond always make the mistake of underestimating her because of that. It is clear he would rather see himself as the one in charge. He has ambitions but is not a threat. Calpernia is sure, however, he wouldn't hesitate to strike if she ever let her guard down. A Magister will never bow down to a slave.

“There's no need,” she replies, hiding her disgust and hostility behind a polite smile. He's not the only one who is good at the game of treacherous smiles. “I believe you've said enough about it already. I know even more than I'd like to, actually.”

Not waiting for his response, Calpernia nods her head ever so slightly (because she's a civilised woman pretending to respect even filth like him), and walks away. She notices Samson has been observing this exchange with an amused smile, the bastard, and a faint pink blush appears on her cheeks. She rushes past him, impatient, with a frown. She has work to do, and she will not waste her time on this blighted templar (although maybe, _maybe_ , she would like to).

Their current “base of operation” as some call it, is a ruin, again, this time however, the place where they’re staying used to be a grand castle. The village around it burned to the ground, yet the castle is not only in a good shape, but also big enough so the Red Templars stay in one part, Venatori in the other. Surprisingly enough, they learned to share, so that templars and mages may coexist peacefully. Or just ignore each other, either way they managed to achieve peace while the rest of the world has to deal with a war between these two fractions. And yet people of Thedas insist they are the “evil ones”…

Her chamber is considerably big, though she chose it only because it has a big wooden bookshelf with heavy tomes covered in dust and spider webs. If they stay here for longer, she will see if there’s anything worth her attention. Besides, she finds the smell of old books comforting.

There’s a table by the window, the bed she sleeps on is ridiculously big but at least it doesn’t reek, and there’s also an old fireplace that wouldn’t be of any use for an ordinary person, but she can easily _fix_ it with a simple fire spell.

Calpernia picks up one letter from the pile on the table, words barely visible in the light of a one small candle, but she has already memorised its contents. Every other person sees nothing but a long description of local wildlife, although in reality it is a code, one of many used by her spies. Her people are loyal not only because some of them are former slaves she freed; they understand the importance of their actions. Thanks to the people like them, she will lead the Imperium into a new age. For now, however, she has to get some rest.

Hearing a knock Calpernia turns to the door, with a frown at the thought that it may be Erimond, and she’s simply not in the mood to talk to that man now (or ever). It’s not the mage, but Samson, and she is not certain whether she is angry or relieved. It’s always so odd to see him wearing ordinary clothes; perhaps she expected someone else hiding under that spiked armour, not a mortal man who bleeds just like every other person. And yet it would be easy for him to crush her body. The fact that he chooses not to, amazes her every time.

“Is there anything I can do for you, _Lady Calpernia_?” he asks, attempting to mock Erimond’s pompous tone and sounding so comical she wants to laugh.

But she doesn’t because… Well, it would mean she’s _comfortable_ when he’s around, that she lets her guard down long enough someone could attack. Or maybe that she _likes_ his company, and that would be

(true)

_absurd_ and laughable, thinking she would ever trust a templar. Predicting all possible implications of her words and actions gives her a headache.

She gives him a questioning look, half expecting to see Samson turn around and disappear without a word because he knows she can be cruel when she’s in a bad mood. She has demonstrated that many times already.

“Close the door, for starters,” she says after a minute of silence, still contemplating what she should do with him. She’s curious as to what Samson has to say to her, but she’s also ready to fight if needed. She will not be mocked, certainly not by him.

 “As you wish, Lady Calpernia.”

She watch him obey and nearly purrs with content, knowing how much power she has.

He stopped calling her Lady Calpernia after figuring out she's not a fan of titles; and, well, she's not exactly a Lady, either. At one point she was the 'witch' and he was the 'templar', as if these were the worst insults they could think of, when all they were doing was throwing insults at each other ( _Like children_ , she thinks now. At least he didn't pull her hair, perhaps too afraid she could just wave her hand and set him on fire…). And then their whole situation took an entirely different turn. Others call her Lady Calpernia, because this is how one should address her with respect, Samson however… Well, she’s no lady and he knows that. She also can't quite forget the way he moans her name, and something inside her aches, reminding her how foolish she is.

“You look rather distraught, Lady Calpernia. Were you expecting _someone else_ , I wonder?”

“Stop with that tone of voice, and _stop_ calling me that,” she says before she can think, and then curses in her thoughts. She wasn’t planning on having a silly conversation with Samson as if nothing happened. Then again, she never plans anything when it comes to this man, everything just… happens, and Calpernia is not sure whether she should be glad or angry, so she’s both at the same time which is certainly not the wisest choice.

“I do not want to see or _hear_ Erimond more than necessary,” she adds and huffs with irritation. She should not be so emotional.

“Not a fan of your fellow mage?” he asks, there’s a hint of smile on his lips and Calpernia knows she has lost this battle. “I’d rather think you’re pleased with his work with the Wardens.”

“ _Pleased_!” she scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Grey Wardens must be desperate fools if they let a man like Livius Erimond make them do what he wants.”

Perhaps she’s saying too much; she should not show her disrespect for another Venatori, especially to a Red Templar, yet she can’t stop herself from saying what she really thinks. Samson won’t use it against her. He doesn’t know about all her secrets, of course, although it’s odd to think that he is the one person she can be honest with. A templar. _This_ templar. Corypheus considers them both as possible Vessels, they should be rivals – not whatever they are instead.

Samson walks closer, doesn’t come to her but to the table to light another candle. She could do it with a simple gesture of her finger; she could solve so many of her problems with fire. That, however, would be too easy.

Samson observes the burning candles that give a little bit more light, yet not enough because she prefers darkness, then looks at Calpernia with an unspoken question in his tired eyes. She is not sure if she should allow him to stay or throw him out immediately. But he's here already, he hasn't mocked her or mentioned what happened even once, so she should use this occasion to remind him she’s always the one in control, no matter what happens. Because she is, obviously.

She is the one who walks to him, this time. “Undress me.”

If Samson is surprised, he doesn’t show it, thankfully, silently obeying her like always. He kneels, knowing well she hates when he's towering over her. It's so easy to get him on his knees, he's so _willing_ to comply with her every request, Calpernia has to bite her lip to stop herself from smacking him in the head yelling that the Elder One's _general_ should not kneel before others.

But she _likes_ it; her fingertips are tingling with power of a different kind than her magic.

“Have you ever met a Grey Warden?” she asks, thinking that Tevinter scholars know surprisingly little about them, more interested in the topic of the Old Gods and forgotten magic than whatever else has been happening in other parts of Thedas.

“They were in Kirkwall when the Knight–Commander fell,” Samson replies as her leather belts and pouches hit the floor. “Never met one in person, though.”

“I've heard they drink darkspawn blood like other men drink wine,” she mentions, recalling a passage from a very old book she read many years ago. “And they fly on griffons.”

“I guess it's all lies. I'm fairly certain all griffons are long dead, can't say I ever saw one in the Free Marches.”

She could ask Erimond all this; he certainly knows more about the Grey Wardens than any other Venatori or a Red Templar, but the very thought of speaking to that man makes her cringe. Besides, if Samson made an attempt of talking to her about something completely neutral, she may be generous enough to actually _talk_ to him, instead of… well, the usual.

When another piece of her clothing falls on the floor, his hands brush her skin briefly, and Calpernia inhales sharply, startled, because she remembers the touch so well, and she’s ashamed to admit she yearns for it. Samson makes the mistake of looking up; she frowns, seeing in his eyes something she doesn’t quite appreciate, that is disturbingly close to how a beaten puppy may beg humans to pick him up, nurse him back to health, and in return he'll love them forever with his stupid undying love that doesn't mean a damn in this cruel world.

“Enough,” her hiss sounds more vile than she intended. It doesn’t matter, he should not expect any kindness from her anyway.

She peels off the rest of her clothes with a sigh of relief. Calpernia doesn’t have to look at Samson to know he’s watching her as she sits down on the bed. Some would call her indecent, but why should she feel ashamed by her own imperfect form? Has she not allowed him to see so much of her already?

The candles on the table give barely enough light, but she doesn't need anything else now. Suddenly aware how naked she is, Calpernia doesn't want to be seen, knowing exactly her body looks like, nothing close to a queen or a whore, far from what others consider desirable. Samson doesn't mind, making her wonder who is a bigger fool here.

Her hands grip the bedsheets so tight she can almost taste the coppery hint of fire magic flowing through her veins, tempting her to cast a spell, hide behind her arcane powers because this is the only thing she truly likes about herself, the ability to create flames with a small gesture of her hand. Her magic is burning deep within her, making her warm in the coldest of nights. It is comforting to know she could leave everything behind to finally be someone, and that others follow her because of this power. And that Samson obeys her, and he's a templar, one who’s trained to control mages. And that the Red Templars fear her enough to respect her, even though she feels uneasy every time they're close, their deformed bodies glowing with a treacherous scarlet light (at times she wonders when he will look like this, and thinks what she will do when there's nothing else but that red rage in his eyes; Samson says he has some sort of natural resistance, but she's not that stupid to believe him, not anymore).

She heard what others are whispering about her, and she doesn't care (of course), but when it comes to Samson...

She never felt so vain in her entire life, but seeing his eyes shine with desire is enough to feed her vanity despite all attempts to stay sane and resist the demon whispering to her ear what she could do with a man who looks at her like this. Her eyes focus back on Samson who is still kneeling on the floor, waiting like a dog for its master’s order.

“Should I draw you a map? Send you a formal invitation?” Calpernia bites her tongue hearing how angry her voice sounds, how childish. She doesn’t know why he is irritating her so much all of the sudden, but she can feel all this malice fuelled by annoyance roaring inside her.

Samson lets out a sigh, and she wants to throw something at him. At least he stopped talking, silently taking off the rags he’s wearing. Once again, she feels like she should tell him that he’s the Red Templar general so he should not look like a beggar, but then she remembers about his armour, and that she saw him cut a man in half in a single motion of his red monstrous sword, not even blinking when blood splattered on his face, and Calpernia knows better than to criticise him.

Now he comes closer, bare, but she can see the strength cleverly hidden in his form. There's a trail of dark hair going down from his stomach, and scars on his chest, arms and back. She remembers his scent and his taste, and how hoarse his voice may get. How his hands feel on her hips, and his stubble on her skin. What his fingers and tongue can do to her. How his eyes change when he’s lying under her, his hands reaching up wanting to touch more, and more, always _more_. She doesn't know when it happened, but she memorised all these small details well it's so embarrassing she's almost expecting to burst into flames any second now.

This mixture of emotions rekindles her ire, and Calpernia is sure she wants to see him writhe in pain, consumed by fire, as much as she wants him to (wrap his hands around her neck, and squeeze until she’s half dead and can finally see what hides in the darkest corner of her soul) disappear from her sight completely, leaving her once and for all.

“Get on your knees again, hands behind your back.”

It was surprisingly easy to say the first time, and it’s easy now, or maybe she just likes being cruel sometimes.

“No.”

His reply catches her by surprise, and she gasps in shock because she could expect many things from Samson but not disobedience. (She makes a mental note that she should _not_ expect anything from him, that would be dangerously close to admitting their “relationship” is more that her silent moans and the feel of his rough hands on her freckled skin.)

There is something in his eyes that makes her frightened, like a beast lurking at the bottom of his soul waiting for her to make a mistake, so it could tear her skin and feast on her flesh. She wonders if she should be afraid of him, and part of her truly is because she has seen him fight and command his red monsters. Perhaps he’s not interested in seeing her bleed because her blood has a different shade of red than the poison he craves.

Calpernia narrows her eyes, gives him an angry look. He will not see her quiver; she is _not_ afraid, she could kill him if she wanted, see his flesh burn until there’s nothing left.

“No?” she repeats with a hint of anger in her voice. “ _Now_ you’re telling me no?”

“Now I’m telling you no,” Samson says and she hates him for how calm he sounds. “Because you are awfully moody today, _Lady_ Calpernia. It seems like you doesn’t know what do you want, so how about I decide, for a change?”

She huffs in annoyance, ready to strike, but before she says anything, his hands cradle her face, his lips are on hers, and she hates him even more (or so she tells herself). Her initial thought is to push him away, but she lets him, instead, maybe because it’s easier, and she’s suddenly feeling exhausted.

His lips move to her neck, and she rather expects him to bite and leave marks on her skin, but his gentle touch comes as a surprise. What she feels is like a spark that reminds her of her own magic but it isn't quite it; it's something so similar yet so vastly different Calpernia can only shake her head in confusion and let him take her apart. She may allow it, this once, if he’s so desperate to show he has some control over her (he does not, _of course_ ; what an easy lie to tell).

Her sharp nails leave red trails behind, and part of her laughs viciously seeing him cringe as she digs harder into his flesh. Then she stops, ashamed how she can be so cruel to a person who–

She wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him _closer_ (oh, she’s so weak), so close, hoping he will forget how cruel she is at times, how lost. His lips are on hers again, he smells like lyrium and blood; it’s hard to tell the difference.  And sometimes... Sometimes she thinks the way he says her name sounds like a prayer.

She should feel worthy of his attention, because after all what she’s done, she earned her position. Others respect and fear her, and she should be certain she deserves to have someone worship her.

She should. It’s so easy to say.

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

When the Elder One speaks she listens, because he is the god who broke her chains, he's the one who chose her and she couldn't be more proud to serve him. There are times like this, however, when Calpernia wonders why she's not allowed as much as Samson – who is her equal here, is he not? He has the Red Templars, she has the Venatori, and they are working _together_ , doing as Corypheus commands.

Is she not worthy? Is she not devoted enough? She has her own personal plans, but has she not proven her loyalty already?

She glances at Samson who seems rather bored, and she can't help but huff in irritation how careless this man is… And how foolish she is that she let him make her feel– she's not sure _what_ exactly, not anger but something more complex that hides deep in her gut, slowly crawling up to her chest (one day it will reach her throat and she will _scream_ ).

She is well aware of the impossible force called the Inquisition, other Venatori whisper this name with disgust (and fear, sometimes). Her spies tell her their opponents are slowly becoming popular among people in Thedas. Nothing matters, however, as Calpernia knows that if the Elder One wants to crush this insect, the Inquisition has no chance, and she will be honoured to lead the Venatori to attack.

But she is not the one Corypheus chooses, and something inside her twists in burning agony when the god she serves speaks to Samson instead. Yet she listens carefully, showing no disrespect, because she always does.

Samson is going to lead the attack on the Inquisition, the Red Templars will crush their foes while Corypheus kills the Inquisitor and gets back the Anchor.

“Do you understand the importance of your mission?” the Elder One’s voice sounds like a thunder, a gathering storm.

Samson blinks, clearly surprised by this decision, but when he speaks she may hear certainty in his voice; he will not fail. _She_ would not fail. She would lead the Venatori and see the Inquisition fall. Haven would be nothing but ashes and ruins.

“I’ll prepare my troops,” he says, and glances at Calpernia with a hint of confusion.

She gives him a stern look, and Samson nearly flinches. Her hands curl into fists as her magic growls inside her mind. She has to calm down. Whatever the Elder One commands, she will obey.

Calpernia stares at her boots, feeling Samson's questioning gaze on her, but she refuses to look at him again. One part of her wants to summon flames and see him burn. She also wants to run away so he would stop glaring at her like that, hide in the darkest corner, hug her bony knees and be alone with her misery, like she did when she was a little thief stealing books from her master’s library.

She should not feel so weak because she isn’t.

 

*

 

Words travel fast, and before she even starts pretending she’s not waiting for anything (or, more importantly, anyone), the news about Haven reach her. The Inquisition, or at least a part of it, has been destroyed but the Elder One couldn’t retrieve the Anchor, and the mission itself was far from success. She hears other Venatori talking how many Red Templars died, and she can taste the question at the tip of her tongue – but she never asks. It would be… suspicious if she asked about him. The ache in her chest means nothing.

Then, few days later, her men inform Calpernia the Red Templars have returned. The first things she notices is that there’s significantly fewer of them; she sees the monsters with red spikes growing out of their deformed bodies, but not as many _people_ as before. How many soldiers were lost?

_She_ would not have failed. _But you are not the one who was chosen_ , she hears something laughing insider her mind, and has to shake her head to get rid of the voice that haunts her at times. Nothing is set in stone yet; if the Elder one chooses her as the Vessel, she will be ready.

Then she can notice Samson among his men, his armour so red it’s hard to tell which is lyrium and which is dried blood. He looks beaten but not defeated, reminding her just how tough he is. He survived Kirkwall. He resists red lyrium while others let it consume them. Samson can take a lot, she’s sure. Yet there’s something anxiously twisting in her mind, like an itch she can’t scratch.

Calpernia rushes to her chamber and (hides) gets back to work. There are letters to write, and lives to save. There is still so much she has to do. Calpernia looks at the letter she holds in her hand but her eyes see no words, her mind focused on an entirely different matter.

She should ask him how he survived. She should ask him about the battle and the Inquisition’s forces, ask how many of his men died and how many returned. She should ask him if he has seen the Inquisitor, and if they truly fought with the Elder One’s dragon.

She should.

She won’t.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N2: Ok, so hear me out, the original draft was embarrassingly long, so I divided it into two separate stories. Anyway, the bottom line is, there’s more coming eventually. Also, this is a series now. I never thought it would evolve into a series, it was supposed to be a short thing for the kink meme yet here we are ;;  
> Thank you for reading!


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